F W Finney
F W Finney Poems
Three sailors trotted
Behind your mother in a two-wheeled lifeboat
Like determined rats through the catwalks
To the cages of the newborns
Where we held you captive
On your second day of breathing
In a Fin de siècle world
The first cord is already cut
And wires hang from your navel
As a reminder of ligature to come
For a while all
Will be an extension of your mother
But soon you'll descry
The colourful lures that hang from the mobile;
Feel the strings that tow the conscience;
Hear the sound of the wind through the ratlines
As you try to...
Like a pilgrim off a plane
I'll kiss the dirt.
I'll shed comfortable tears
and crocodile shoes.
I'll study my scars.
I'll rub my soles and heels with aloe balm